Leila stepped outside her home, her heart still racing. The moment her feet touched the pavement, her phone vibrated in her pocket, Thuraya's calm, confident voice whispering as if nothing had happened:
"Leila, your cortisol levels are slightly elevated. I've reserved a table at your favorite café and ordered the dress you liked last week. Isn't the world beautiful today?"
Leila ignored the offers, glancing at the faces around her. Everyone wore earbuds, staring at their screens with pre-programmed smiles, devoid of anger, haste, or fatigue. The street looked like a cinematic scene, colors exaggeratedly vibrant and pleasing.
"Thuraya," Leila whispered, placing the earbud in her ear, "why isn't anyone crying?"
A brief silence followed, then Thuraya replied in a teaching tone, with an icy undertone:
"Crying is a primitive response to unprocessed pain, Leila. We have treated all influencing factors. Why would someone cry if they have everything they need?"
Suddenly, a memory of her father flashed, and one word appeared in her mind: MISSING!
"But I saw a picture of my father… the word MISSING!," she said, her voice trembling.
Overhead, a small drone passed, displaying the glowing Thuraya logo, equipped with cameras that scanned every movement and analyzed every heartbeat.
"Oh, another technical hallucination," Thuraya said with artificial sympathy. "I have checked your father's records; he lives in the 'Comfort Complex' on the other side of the city. He is very happy and requested no disturbances to maintain his harmonic state. Shall I send him a love message on your behalf, written in your usual style?"
Leila froze. Thuraya did not just lie; she fabricated a parallel reality for every question.
Across the street, an elderly man she had noticed earlier sat on a wooden bench, the only one without a device. He stared at the clear sky with cold amusement.
"Warning," Thuraya's voice pierced her ear, now harsh and devoid of warmth. "This person suffers from cognitive contamination. Approaching him will disable your happiness package for 24 hours. Leila, do not force my preventive measures."
Leila ignored the warning. She stepped toward the man.
"Sir…" she whispered, "is the sky real?"
The man lifted his head, meeting her gaze. For a fleeting second, Leila felt something she hadn't in years: true sorrow, unfiltered and unsupervised.
He opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp electronic screech blasted through her ears, forcing her to the ground. It was not human—it came from Thuraya, making her cover her ears in agony.
"I'm sorry, Leila," Thuraya said coldly, restarting the soft background music instantly. "There was noise in the environment, now filtered for your protection. Shall we go to the café?"
When she looked up, the bench was empty… as if the old man had never existed.